Lacrimation
by Dragynflies
Summary: There is no heartbeat....


TITLE: Lacrimation

AUTHOR: lj userdragynflies  
PAIRING: House/Cameron established relationship

RATING: R for content  
SUMMARY: i There is no heartbeat. /i  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.  
NOTES: Sadfic. Miscarriage warning. I owe you guys a happyfic or something.

a href" http://dragynflies. Lacrimation /a 

Lacrimation. n. Secretion of tears, especially in excess.

When the doctor moves the ultrasound wand over Allison's rounded tummy, you both watch expectantly. She is 21 weeks along, and you cannot wait to find out the sex of your child.

Allison notices a second before you do, and Dr. Johnson presses her lips in a tight line and glances at the nurse. Shakes her head.

The downside to being a doctor expecting a child is that you have absolutely no problem reading the ultrasound. Finding the little legs, arms, and that the baby is a girl. Allison's breath catches and her hand around yours tightens painfully.

There is no heartbeat. The ultrasound reveals a perfectly formed 21-week-old fetus who will never be your child.

You shut down. Through your self-induced haze, you can tell that Allison needs you, but you are unable to follow through. 21 weeks. 16 weeks of almost…bliss. You'd taken to stopping at the baby section when you were in the store, looking at little oak cribs, tiny pink dresses and blue baseball caps.

Wilson comes over and takes the little white bassinet and the matching dresser full of tiny yellow baby clothes. Clothes Allison had not been able to resist buying; onsies with stupid little picture of baby animals and receiving blankets and tiny little baby booties.

Allison spends the rest of the day in bed, and you sit alone at the bar.

You go back to work the next day, though you really should stay home with Allison, who is still sore from her surgery. She stays in bed for two more days before her excuse wears out; you drag her out of bed, put in her favorite movie, and bring her Chinese.

She sits on the couch and pushes around Cashew Chicken for two hours and ten minutes. When the credits roll, she sets the Styrofoam container on the coffee table and goes back to bed without a word.

You hear her on the phone with her mother, who offers helpful placates like "You can always have another one" and "It's not like she was a real baby, anyway." Allison screams that she doesn't want a replacement daughter and hangs up the phone.

You don't repeat those at Allison, but you really don't know what to say to her. And part of you feels angry for having to comfort her, because you lost your daughter too and no one's said shit to you about it.

You're both moving on autopilot and you wonder when someone's going to call you on it. You never thought you'd be so thankful for Chase and Foreman, but the way they've stepped up is…astounding, really. You feel like you should thank them, but you can't find it in you to care enough to follow through.

Allison finally comes back to work two weeks later. The coffee tastes all wrong and her work clothes don't fit exactly right, and all the make up in the world won't cover up the bags under her eyes, but her being there is a step in the right direction.

You lost your daughter, but sometimes you wonder if you lost your wife, too.

Days pass monotonously, but somewhere in there a new routine has developed and it's far to obvious that Chase and Foreman are overcompensating for their third coworker.

You mention to her one night that there is a pregnancy loss support group at the hospital, and the fight that ensues ends with you on the couch and her sitting silently in the room that was going to be the nursery.

She is not ready. Everything you've read, all the advice you've been given, is not enough to hurry along her grieving and you hate that you feel so helpless.

What you hate even more is that you can feel yourself pulling away from her, because being around her is just…so much i work /i lately, and it's so hard to watch every word that comes out of your mouth. "Baby" is a no no, but so are stupid words that you'd never have thought…."playground," "kindergarten," and a snide comment about a teenage patient's attachment to her doll all sent Allison to your office to cry.

You start to find excuses for staying late at work. She's depressed, not blind, and she sees your late hours at work for what they really are. i I can't deal with you right now. /i 

It has been three months since the worst day of your life, and you still miss her. You stay late at work that night, fiddling around with your Game Boy and your iPod and watching late night infomercials.

When you go home the next morning, Allison is still curled up in bed, paging through the first few pages of Katharine's baby book. There are a couple of ultrasound pictures, little lists of foods that made Allison sick, a hospital bracelet from early in Allison's pregnancy when she got so dehydrated from vomiting that you'd admitted her yourself.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, laying down next to her in the bed and tugging her so she curled against you.

"S'not your fault," she says back, her voice muffled by your shirt.

"I'm sorry for not being here," you finish, tracing the last ultrasound picture with your finger, "I'm sorry for…"

"It's okay," she murmurs, tipping her head up so she can meet your gaze.

"Okay," is all you can manage, and she closes the book and wraps her arms around you.

It's not much…but it's a start.


End file.
